Falling into Place
by NightWolfMoon
Summary: Ever since Francis and Arthur began their fight over custody, Matthew has been acting out. Francis feels like he's at the end of his rope, but when he has to go meet his lawyer, can Uncle Feli help bring back the old Matthew? (Human AU)


This divorce was becoming very tiresome for Francis. After eight years, he still couldn't believe that he and Arthur were separated. The two had first met at college, both of them students at a small university in northwestern New York. The men had hated each other at first, but Antonio had set them up on a date, sparking the relationship that had soon become the talk of the campus. Sure, the relationship had been rocky, and they were off-and-on for the first year. Still, Francis had thought that the relationship would last forever. He loved Arthur's tousled golden locks, his pale peach skin that radiated in the sun, his thin lips usually pursed in concentration, and his deep emerald eyes shadowed by the thick brows Francis had had made fun of.

"_Mon Dieu…_" Francis looked out the window of the small kitchen in his townhouse.

After college, Francis and Arthur had gotten a nice house in New Jersey, close enough to New York City, where Francis got a job as a chef in a high-end restaurant and Arthur got a job at a small firm. After a few years of living together, they decided to adopt children, ending up with twins—Alfred and Matthew.

With the divorce, Arthur got to keep the house, and Alfred had chosen to stay with him, crying and reaching out for Matthew, who had decided he liked being with Francis more.

"_Mattie! MAAATTIIIEEEEE!" cried out Alfred, hot tears streaming down his flushed cheeks and misting his bright blue eyes. His right hand was in Arthur's tight grip as he reached out for his younger brother with his left, fingers outstretched. "MATTIE! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME!"_

_Francis turned as he held onto Matthew, who clutched the front of Francis's shirt as tears trickled down his cheeks, face contorted in pain and regret. It just broke Francis's heart. Couldn't he and Arthur just work something out? For the sake of the children?_

"_Come inside, Alfred." Arthur's tone was flat, but there was a bit of guilt in those grass-colored eyes only Francis had the experience to perceive._

That day, Alfred had been wearing his favorite cowboy suit, and Matthew had been in a simple blue button-up shirt and slacks. Francis could remember every detail clearly.

He hated this. Matthew was currently asleep upstairs, clutching his stuffed polar bear, which had become his safety blanket. Francis and Arthur had been told that the twins had lost their mother from a robbery-gone-wrong when they were three, and the father couldn't be identified. Now, those two, poor kids were forced to go through this divorce.

Francis hadn't wanted them separated.

Unfortunately, neither had Arthur.

Francis slammed his coffee cup down onto the table in anger as he thought about what Arthur was doing. Wasn't it bad enough Francis had been forced to move out? That _rosbif_ now _dared_ to take away Matthew as well? Francis felt his eyes sting with tears as he thought about Arthur dragging Matthew away from him. Francis couldn't bear the thought, and he began to swear heavily beneath his breath, glad that Matthew wasn't awake to hear such words.

Today, Francis would have to visit his lawyer again. He knew that Matthew hated these talks, so Francis had arranged for a baby-sitter. His friend Feliciano should be arriving soon—hopefully on time for once. The two had been very good friends for years and were almost like brothers. Francis had even once given the Italian advice on how to handle his crush on a German man by the name of Ludwig that had gone to the same college as Francis and Arthur. (The advice hadn't worked, but Feliciano had still ended up with Ludwig in the end, so Francis had decided to take credit anyway.)

Too upset to eat, Francis placed his half-empty coffee cup and partially-eaten crêpe next to the sink, planning to clean up later. He took his hair down and placed the white ribbon onto the counter, allowing his sunlight-colored, wavy locks to brush his shoulders. The doorbell rang as he sighed, and Francis glanced at the clock over the stove, lips curving into the ghost of a smile as he saw that his "little brother" was actually on time. The Frenchman took this as a good sign and headed over to the door, trying to muster up a larger smile for the happy-go-lucky Italian man.

"_Ciao, Francis_!" sang the brunette, smiling from ear to ear. He looked younger than his twenty-six years, and he dressed nicely as usual, wearing a deep blue blazer over a black, button-up shirt and dark wash jeans. It was a nice mix of casual and business, and he also wore a scarf, the crucifix everyone in his family wore peeking from beneath the checkered cloth. He, too, worked as a chef, though it was at a restaurant in Little Italy known for servicing questionable clientele—everyone was smart enough to not talk about it.

"_Bonjour, Feli_," Francis replied, trying to copy the glee the other man radiated. "Please, come in."

Stepping aside, Francis allowed for Feliciano to step into the townhouse.

"_Merci beaucoup_ for this." Francis shut the door, leaning against it. "This is all _plus difficile_."

Opening his golden-brown eyes halfway, expression awash in compassion, Feliciano placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. The two had known each other ever since Francis first came to the US, and Feliciano had been the one to help him get the job at the restaurant. Francis had been there for Feliciano when his parents and grandfather died, always willing to lend a hand or shoulder despite the rumors surrounding the Vargas family. Feliciano wanted to always be there for Francis. That was what friends were for.

"_Mi dispiace_," whispered the brunette. He was a few inches shorter than Francis, having to incline his head slightly to meet those sky-blue eyes. "I'm sure everything will be alright, _fratello maggiore_."

It was hard to not smile at Feliciano's optimism. "_Oui_, I'm sure." His voice was soft as he grabbed his coat from the hook near the door. It was nearing mid-autumn and was still warm, but New York City had a cruel sense of humor, often switching from hot to cold on a dime—much like Francis's relationship with Arthur.

Francis gave another sigh as he grabbed his messenger bag. "_Merci_ again, Feli. Mathieu is upstairs, asleep, but he should awaken soon. He's normally an early bird, but he's been having trouble sleeping lately." There was a crack in Francis's voice, his eyes shining as his lips pursed. Feliciano made sure to be quiet as he waited for Francis to continue: "Make sure he eats healthy and stays busy."

Feliciano gave a nod. "Of course."

The door was opened yet again, but before he left, Francis turned around, voice soft again as he spoke. "Just to warn you, Mathieu has been going through a rebellious streak due to the custody battle. At his last weekend with Arthur, he wrote insults—_en Français_—on the walls in marker and dumped all of his food onto the ground. Alfred would have to plead with him to eat, but then Mathieu…" Francis hesitated, the look in his eyes almost haunted. "He tore apart Alfred's stuffed alien in retaliation of him taking Arthur's side, and Mathieu then hung the stuffed alien's head on the wall. Alfred's very upset now, and I'm afraid of having to send Mathieu to a child psychologist. I just know Arthur is going to use this against me in the battle."

The father seemed to be at wit's end, holding back tears as he spoke of this. Feliciano instantly embraced him, promising that he would watch over Matthew and help in any way that he could. With a nod of thanks, Francis left to catch a taxi to his lawyer's office, and Feliciano closed the door with a loud exhale, jumping back when he saw something appear at the edge of his vision.

To his left, a few steps away from the foot of the stairs was Matthew, still wearing his snowflake-print pajamas and clutching his stuffed polar bear, Kumajiro—Feliciano's and Francis's friend, Kiku, had suggested the name upon giving the bear to Matthew two years ago—to his chest. The nine-year-old just stood there quietly, face shadowed by his cornsilk-blonde hair that fell to his shoulders in soft waves. His expression was neutral, and his lavender-tinted, bright blue eyes were void of emotion. It was eerie with such a small and (usually) good-natured child, and Feliciano briefly wondered if he was in over his head.

_No_, the Italian man decided. _If I can handle what happened at_ il ristorante _last week, then I can handle a child_.

"_Ciao, Mattie_! Uncle Feli is here to look after you!" He bent down slightly at the waist to try and meet Matthew's eyes. "Aren't you excited?"

"_Non_," responded Matthew bluntly. "_Quand est-ce que mon papa_?"

A bit of anger flashed across the child's eyes, too quick for most to notice. However, Feliciano had needed how to learn to read emotion and sense when danger was coming in his family, and he suddenly realized that Matthew was not a child to be underestimated. He had heard from Antonio an incident between Matthew and Alfred a couple of weeks ago. Arthur hadn't believed Alfred's story at first, but after Matthew had beheaded Tony the Alien, the Brit had begun having second thoughts about Matthew's gentle nature.

Trying to keep up his cheerful smile and tone, Feliciano responded, "_Ton papa est occupé_." Although Feliciano had taken French classes in high school and his first year in college, he wasn't fluent, and it looked like his first mission was going to be to get Matthew to start speaking English again. According to Francis the day before, Matthew had started refusing to speak anything but French when the custody battle first started.

The man bent down onto one knee to come face to face with the small boy. "Would you like your Uncle Feli to make you breakfast?"

"_Non_." Matthew turned and headed back up the stairs. "_JUSTE ALLEZ_!"

He began to run, tears building in his eyes as his teeth clenched. Feliciano's smile fell as he watched Matthew sprint up the stairs, very worried about him. Feliciano himself had been forced through tragedy, his parents killed when he and his twin brother were six. They had gone to live with their grandfather, but the man was a womanizer. In just ten years after Feliciano and Lovino had begun living with him, a jealous husband had found the twins' grandfather and killed him with both boys were hiding upstairs.

The tough life had made Lovino's heart hard. He was very suspicious of kindness and had a tendency to be cold or even rude towards others. Although he and Feliciano were twins, he was actually the firstborn and had thus inherited everything once he came of age, and that had made his suspicious attitude all the worse. Feliciano had always just tried to smile away the pain, embracing the help from great friends like Francis, who had moved to New York when he was about fourteen or fifteen, and Antonio, a good friend since childhood. Elizabeta was also a wonderful friend, usually acting like an older sister.

Matthew's smiles had once held tender warmth that seemed to flow to the people around him and spread peace through their bodies and souls. Feliciano couldn't bear the thought of him becoming suspicious of everyone like Lovino was. By the looks of things, Matthew could actually get worse. As he got back to his feet, Feliciano vowed that he would try to help bring the old Matthew back. It wasn't going to be easy, but it would be what was best for him and his family.

"Matthew!" Cheer no longer stuck to Feliciano's voice, and it was harder to smile now after remembering everything and thinking about what could end up happening in the child's future. "You cannot speak that way to me."

"_Pourquoi_?" Matthew turned his head slightly to look at Feliciano out of the corner of his eye, lips turned into a slight frown. His tone was flat and low, almost a growl.

He clutched Kumajiro more tightly to his chest, not trusting this man. He'd seen Uncle Feli from time to time, once with his twin brother, Lovi. He was friends with Matthew's papa, but Uncle Lovi was usually frowning and was rude. Uncle Feli was always smiling, but there was sometimes something fake about the way he smiled. It was like he wasn't sharing something. He didn't tell the entire truth, and that was the same as lying. Papa was always telling Matthew and Alfred that lying was wrong. That meant Uncle Feli couldn't be trusted. Matthew only trusted Papa.

Feliciano took a step forward, and Matthew flinched, making him stop. "I'm on your side, Mattie."

Turning away, Matthew squeezed his eyes shut and sprinted into his room, slamming the door behind him before his uncle could make another step forward. Tears streamed down the young boy's face, and he heard Uncle Feli mutter something under his breath in a language he didn't know. Allowing the tears to fall, Matthew slid to the ground, back pressed against his door. Everyone was against him. Mamanhad always liked Alfred more, though he often acted as the rambunctious boy got on his nerves. He had a tendency to overlook Matthew, sometimes not even realizing he was there! And Alfred _actually_ took the side of _leur mère_!

It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair! _It wasn't fair_!

Why did all of this have to be happening? Matthew could still see her blood. He could still feel Alfred pushing him away before getting thrown against the wall. Alfred didn't remember much from back then, due to the hit to his head. Matthew, on the other hand, remembered almost every gory detail. Yet, he had to fight to remember her smile. He had to fight to remember her laugh. He had to fight to remember her hugs.

Those memories had gotten him through those foster homes. Matthew often screamed in his sleep from nightmares of that horrible, horrible night. Other children had always teased Matthew, Alfred always sticking up for him and fighting those that taunted him. Alfred had always been outgoing and loud, and he was fiercely loyal and protective of his brother. The twins had become "problem" children from all the fights, but then they had gotten news of a couple adopting them. There had apparently been trouble since the couple was two men rather than a man and woman, but neither child had cared.

Someone actually wanted them. It'd been paradise—hugs, kisses, bedtime stories…

There'd been a few fights when _Maman et Papa_ thought the boys were asleep. Usually, only Alfred would be asleep, his snores filling the room, and Matthew would be hugging Kumajiro tightly before running over to jump into his brother's bed. Alfred hardly ever stirred, but he never started upon finding the extra body in his bed. Instead, he'd just lay Tony over to his other side and give Matthew a hug until he awoke so that they could both go downstairs for breakfast.

Why had that changed? How could Alfred ever take sides with the one that had always ignored Matthew, making him sad? Matthew had sometimes even cried about it when no one was around. Did Alfred not care anymore? Did he _actually_ love _Maman_ more than _him_?

Well, at least now Matthew had made it perfectly clear where they both stood.

_It was the first weekend with Maman in New Jersey, Papa back at that small house in New York City. Matthew was left with his overnight bag and Papa trying to smile before leaving and promising to be back Sunday night. Matthew didn't want Papa to leave, but this was because of some agreement. From what Matthew could understand, Maman kept Alfred while Papa kept him, and then both children would stay together at one of the two houses every other weekend. Only, Maman wanted to keep _both_ of them. For _good_. _

_Matthew couldn't stand the thought of that happening._

"_I will take these upstairs, and then I'll get dinner ready, alright?" Maman was smiling, but Matthew wouldn't believe this kindness. Maman was evil. He was a demon. Matthew had heard Papa say to Uncle Tonio Maman used to practice dark magic._

"Oui, Maman_…" Matthew hugged Kumajiro tightly and scurried off to the playroom with Alfred, hearing Maman mutter something about how he didn't like that he was always called the 'mother'._

"_Alfie?" Matthew found his twin playing with that weird-looking stuffed doll of his. Alfred had named it 'Tony', saying he had wanted to name him after his favorite uncle._

"_Hi, Mattie!" Although Alfred had learned a little of each language he had been exposed to, he wasn't fluent in any of them (not even French), and he always preferred to just speak in English, only saying a word or two in a different language here and there._

"_How can you be so happy?" Matthew sat down in front of his brother, not bothering to smile. The blank look on his face took Alfred aback somewhat._

"_Uh… Huh?"_

"Maman et Papa combattons depuis un mois_." The tears began to prick at his eyes. "And it's all Maman's fault!" His voice squeaked, and he was sure that he hadn't been loud enough for Maman to hear._

"_Mattie…" Alfred had always been easy to read, and his expression filled with concern and worry. "Mommy's not all bad. He may not cook good, and he may yell lots, but he's not all bad."_

"_Why do you want to take his side? _Pourquoi_?" Matthew was on his feet, making Alfred look up at him._

"_I'm not taking sides! Mattie, please—"_

_Matthew bent down so that the tip of his nose was a fraction of an inch from Alfred's. "You'll be sorry you took Maman's side over Papa's. Can't you see how _triste_ this all makes him? _Moi_?"_

"_Mattie…"_

"_I _won't_ live with Maman! I _won't_ let him take me away from Papa!"_

_Alfred's eyes shone as they remained wide, obviously scared. He had never seen this side of Matthew before, but it was gone within seconds as Maman approached the room to tell them that dinner would be ready in a few minutes._

"_Alfred?" Maman came over, noticing Alfred's scared expression. "What's wrong?"_

_Unbelieving, Alfred just stared at Matthew as if waiting for that sneer to come back, but the younger twin merely smiled innocently, clutching Kumajiro._

"_Alfie was telling me about a bad dream he had," said Matthew, eyes never leaving his twin._

Going to his bed, Matthew shimmied under the covers and clutched Kumajiro. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that did nothing to stop the deluge of tears. Teeth clenched, he tried not to let his sobs be heard. Matthew hated all of this. Why couldn't Alfred be on his side? Why did he have to love Maman when he was so evil?

Why did he have to have no memory of their mother?

The beautiful woman had been tall and willowy with long, dirty blonde hair and eyes that were as deep and blue as the ocean. She worked so hard to make sure her boys were happy, purple always surrounding her doe-like eyes. She would always smile around them, singing as she would clean the house or cook. Matthew couldn't remember much, but he remembered that she liked to bake, Alfred always the most excited whenever the scent of fresh cookies wafted through their tiny apartment. Even at such a young age, she would try to teach Matthew and Alfred how to read as well as writing the alphabet.

Alfred had always been too impatient and easily-bored, never liking to be still for the lessons. Still, he had retained many of the lessons, though he wasn't as far ahead in his studies as Matthew. Both did well in school because of their mother, as well as their new parents, who always pushed them to do better. However, Papa was gentler with his urging, just like the twins' birth mother had been. Maman tended to be too harsh. He got angry easily and yelled often. Matthew could never understand why Alfred preferred _him_ over Papa. It made no sense.

If only Alfred remembered their birth mother. Then, he'd choose Papa. Papa cooked good food and baked goodies just like their mother had. He was gentle and patient like her too. Papa always talked about how love was the most important thing in the world. Hadn't Matthew's birth mother said that as well? Or was he trying to connect the two people to where they seemed to be the same?

The doorknob made the sound of someone trying to get in—like the person was too dumb to realize that the door was _locked_.

"Matthew?" Uncle Feli called.

"_Fiche-moi la paix_!" screamed Matthew, voice cracking. Why wouldn't he just leave him alone?

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Matthew peeked out from under his maple-leaf-print covers at the foot of the bed, eyes narrowed. Uncle Feli had somehow gotten past the lock—probably with that card he was now tucking back into his wallet. Matthew wasn't sure how that worked, but he didn't care. This was just another show of how Uncle Feli wasn't as trustworthy as he claimed to be.

"Mattie, I want to help you." Feliciano put his leather wallet into his back pocket and held out his arms in a gesture to show that he meant no harm and there was nothing to be suspicious of. Looking into those eyes, Feliciano saw the kind of suspicion Lovino often had, even towards Antonio and Ludwig (Lovino was worse than an overprotective parent when it came to Feliciano's love life).

Matthew didn't move. He just stared at his uncle disbelievingly.

Arms falling to his sides, Feliciano sighed. "Matthew, why do you dislike Arthur so much? You're hurting him. Even Francis is upset over what you're doing."

Eyes squeezing shut, a few more tears leaked out.

"Talk to me? _Per favore_?" He bent down closer to Matthew. "_S'il tu plaît_?"

Looking away from his uncle, Matthew stayed silent. Feliciano waited, his golden-brown eyes full of concern. Why did he want Matthew to tell him anything? He couldn't possibly understand. Still, Matthew wanted to talk to someone else besides Kuma, and he knew that Uncle Feli was right about Papa being hurt about this. Matthew saw how disappointed and upset he'd been when Arthur told him about what Matthew had done that one weekend. Matthew felt bad about it, but he didn't want to say he was sorry. None of this was his fault, anyway. Why should he be the first to apologize?

"_Pourquoi_…?" Matthew blinked back tears. "Why… do you care?"

There was a shine to Uncle Feli's eyes Matthew recognized from his own reflection. Uncle Feli was sad, but he always smiled. He was haunted by something just as tragic as Matthew's past, yet he didn't get angry or act out. His brother did, but not him. Matthew began to see how he and his own twin were just like these two Italian men. Would Matthew end up like Uncle Lovi if he kept going on as he was? Did Alfred just prefer to smile through it all? Matthew had only seen Alfred cry once—when Francis and Matthew were leaving their house in New Jersey. He was always taking care of Matthew, smiling for him and trying to get him to laugh… though not lately. Lately, Alfred had seemed _afraid_ of his twin.

Wait, afraid _of_ or afraid _for_?

The look Uncle Feli gave Matthew now reminded him of the look Alfred had given him after seeing Tony's head pined to the wall next to his bed. Alfred hadn't cried or yelled. He had just given Matthew that sad, almost pitying, look before running off to get Maman.

"Would you like to hear a story, Mattie? I'm afraid it's sad, however."

"_Triste_…" Matthew thought this over. "_Est-il vrai_? It's true?" _Maybe… I can trust him…?_

Uncle Feli gave a slow, sad nod. "It's about me and _mio fratello_, your Uncle Lovino. We lost our mommy too."

The small boy's eyes went up to meet his babysitter's. "Really? You did?"

He nodded again. "When we were really young." His eyes began to get a faraway look to them, like he was getting lost in these troubling memories. "Bad men came and killed both of our parents. Lovino saw everything and hid my eyes so I wouldn't have to." Feliciano's voice trembled slightly as he was thrust back to that horrible day. "We went to live with our grandfather, but he died as well. We then ended up in foster care, like you and Alfred before you were adopted."

Eyes going back to the ground, Matthew inquired softly, "Do… do you remember your mommy and daddy?"

"_Si_, I do, mostly. My mother had long hair and was always smiling and cooking. I used to sit in the kitchen and help her cook whenever I could. My father was scary sometimes, though." He gave a soft chuckle, remembering how Lovino's scowl was nearly identical to their fathers. "But I knew that he loved all of us no matter what."

Slowly, Matthew moved away his comforter and sat up on his knees as he kept Kumajiro by him. "And your grandpa?"

"He was really nice and friendly," replied Feliciano with a smile. "He was also very strong." He got up and sat on the foot of the small bed, smiling a bit wider when Matthew didn't scoot away from him. "Do you remember your mother at all?"

Matthew nodded. "She liked to make cookies, and she smiled a lot too. She was smart too. And pretty. But she looks fuzzy in my head. It's hard to remember her."

Understanding, Feliciano brought Matthew closer and gave him a comforting hug. The little boy squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned into the embrace, trembling as he bit his bottom lip. It looked like he was fighting against another deluge of tears.

"It's okay to cry, _mio nipote_," the Italian whispered, petting Matthew's head. "I think I have a way to help you remember your mother, though. It will even help you keep her image as you get older."

Words choked with sobs, Matthew hiccupped, "R-really? How?"

Feliciano picked the small boy up, smiling that mirthful smile that looked more real than it ever had before. "Come on, I'll show you!"

**XXX**

Leaning back in his seat, Francis tried to calm down. In about five minutes, he'd be home. The meeting had gone on longer than expected. Francis had wanted to be home by 5:30, but it was now almost six o'clock. Luckily, Feliciano was a wonderful cook, the only one Francis knew of that could make his own cooking seem amateurish by comparison. Only, Matthew had been getting very picky with his food lately—so much so, Francis was worried he may have had to force-feed him. It was so hard to see him causing so much trouble. Out of the two boys, Alfred had always seemed to be more of a handful. He was an attention-hog and tended to jump into things without thinking. Matthew was practically his polar opposite with his quiet nature and cautiousness.

Oh the pain he must be going through to have taken such a drastic turn in his personality. After hearing that horrifying story of the twins' mother, Arthur and Francis had known that the boys could be damaged mentally or emotionally. It had definitely seemed that way with Alfred at first, the kid acting more like a bodyguard for his brother. He had come around quickly, though, and he always found ways to make Matthew laugh (even though it was usually at Arthur's expense).

It was almost like seeing younger versions of the Vargas twins when Francis thought about it. _Mon Dieu, pourquoi? Why must such tragedy persist?_

With a sigh, Francis leaned forward in his seat, the bus coming to a stop. Four people got onto the vehicle, one having a familiar face. However, Francis wasn't paying attention, more important things on his mind than the other passengers.

"Francis? Francis Bonnefoy?"

Face coming up from his hands, Francis looked as that familiar face looked down at him. He had teal eyes that tended to look more green in certain light, and his smile still seemed as unsure as it had back in college. He sat down next to the Frenchman, that thick, brown hair a shade lighter than chestnut brushing along narrow shoulders.

"Are you alright? I don't think I've ever seen you like this." There was a depth to the man's eyes few people possessed anymore. This was a person that kept everything inside, much preferring to worry about others, especially his loved ones. He took everything in stride, thin lips in a near-perpetual smile. He was also a good listener from what Francis remembered, though he had to grasp at his memory for a name.

_Toris!_ he finally remembered, offering only the barest of smiles—it was too hard for anything more. "Well, this divorce is much more trouble than I thought it would be."

Sympathy flashed through those deep-set eyes. "Arthur? You and him are getting a divorce?"

"_Oui_…" Francis took a deep breath. "We had already known that our relationship would be a hard one, but I always believed that _l'amour_ would prevail—get us through whatever problems we had."

Toris gave a nod of understanding. "Yeah, that's what I had thought at first with Ivan." He gave a sigh. "But if not for the grief I felt after our break-up, I never would have met Feliks."

It was hard not to smile at the glitter in Toris's eyes at the mention of his new love. Blush dusted the man's pale cheeks, and he wore a small, shy smile.

"Congratulations, Toris."

The brunette's smile widened slightly, though Francis wondered if it was because of the thought of Feliks or the fact that he had actually remembered his name. "Thank you."

"_Bien oui_." He smiled but then sighed again. "I worry about my son, though."

Toris looked up. "Oh, I think I heard from Elizabeta about you and Arthur adopting twin boys. She said they were adorable."

The smile came back. "They are. However, Mathieu has been going through a rebellious phase lately. He hates the fighting, and it seems that he's blaming everything on Arthur."

"Why is that?"

Francis shook his head. "I wish I knew."

"Hmm… I'm not sure what to say, but I'm sure things will be alright eventually." The slightly unsure smile was back. "It almost never seems like it will, but kids have a way with reading emotions sometimes. Try to stay optimistic. That's all I can really think of."

Francis gave a nod, thinking this over. "I think you are right. There's nothing really more to do than just do what I can and hope for the best, _oui_?"

Smiling wider, Toris nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure things will fall into place."

The bus arrived at Francis's stop, and he got up, grabbing his brief case. "_Merci beaucoup_, Toris." Francis moved past the younger man and told him his address. "Please feel free to visit."

Toris beamed at him. "I will, thank you."

Feeling much better, Francis bid Toris goodbye and got off the bus. He checked his watch, seeing that it was just a few minutes before six o'clock. The sun was bowing down to night, but Nyx's reign could never squelch New York City's lights that made her diamond tears invisible to the people scurrying around under her gentle gaze. The moon was a thin crescent, and it almost looked like a cradle the way it was placed in the inky sky. Francis looked up at it for a second as he hurried home, wanting to see Matthew and hear how Feliciano fared with him.

Francis fumbled with the keys but finally got the door unlocked and got inside, stopping in the doorway, eyes wide. The air smelled of cheese and sauce, and there was even the scent of fresh-baked cookies floating along with it. What had stopped Francis in his tracks, however, were the two figures on the couch in the living room before him. Right there were Feliciano and Matthew, both asleep. Matthew was leaning against his uncle, face reflecting a peace Francis hadn't seen there in way too long. The same peace also filled the Italian's face, and he had one arm around the small boy in a tender embrace as his other hand rested on a picture book in his lap.

Closing the door as silently as possible, Francis smiled and set down his brief case. He then went over to the living room, spotting numerous pictures on the coffee table. Some were done in Feliciano's careful hand, and Francis could see graphite staining the younger man's fingers from where he had smeared and shaded the pictures, creating realistic pictures of Lovino, his grandfather, Ludwig (with a small smile and soft gaze Francis hadn't known the German was capable of), and a man and woman holding twin boys. Francis's eyes shimmered as he realized that this was Feliciano's mother and father holding him and Lovino as toddlers.

The other pictures were done in a wide array of media—pencil, pen, crayon, marker, and watercolor paint from that art set Francis had given Matthew last Christmas. Many of the pictures were of a woman with long, blonde hair and blue eyes. In one picture, she wore a blue dress with a white apron. In another, she wore jeans and a T-shirt. In another, she held a plate of cookies. Tears came to Francis's eyes once he understood that this was the mother Matthew and Alfred had lost years ago.

Trying to be quiet, Francis bent down at the table to look through the pictures, stopping at the one with red writing at the bottom: _Ma Famille_. It was a picture of Francis and Arthur holding hands and smiling as they each held a boy in their free arms. Arthur held a laughing Alfred as Francis held a gently-smiling Matthew. At the adults' feet were also a green alien and a polar bear.

Oui_…,_ thought Francis with a smile as he looked up at the two dozing on the tan-colored couch. _Things will definitely get better._

**_Aww~ I randomly got the idea for this story some time ago, and my friend Kyuusho Doragon urged me to write it. It took a while, but I finally finished. I never thought I'd actually be capable of a story that doesn't end with tragedy or bittersweet feelings, but I kinda like finally writing something that has a warm-and-fuzzy feel to it. :3 And yes, Arthur likely repairs Tony for Alfred, so it's all gonna be okay. Well, I hope y'all enjoyed the story! :):):):):):):):):):):):)_**


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